


something lonesome about you (something so wholesome about you)

by ah_choo (lieagain)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Character Study, Death, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kim Mingyu-centric, M/M, No Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Undead, they are all just undead!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieagain/pseuds/ah_choo
Summary: Kim Mingyu has to start living again – but it may not be that simple if he's already dead.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36
Collections: Director's Cut Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> this fic is based on british tv series "in the flesh", which I very much recommend, but i think it's not needed to watch it before reading - hopefully I'll be able to introduce you to the universe through this text. 
> 
> as for the warnings: this fic will deal with the themes of death. no one will die, but some of the characters are dead already and their experiences with death will be talked about. so, a heads up. but! I don't intend this fic to be completely dark, if you worry about it!
> 
> thank you to the mods for hosting this fic fest and for understanding!
> 
> title from hozier's "from eden"

"Mingyu, I'm sorry, but we're closing our centre," Jeonghan says. Mingyu simply nods; it's not the first time he's heard the news. Also, there's not that many people here anymore anyway, about twenty five patients, which, compared to six hundred that used to occupy the building, is awfully small.

"You know what that means, right?"

Mingyu purses his lips and doesn't answer. Of course, he knows.

"It's time you finally get on your own. You're more than ready." 

_I'm not_ , he thinks, _I'm not and I'll never be_ , but he doesn't protest. There's not much he could do anyway.

"When are we closing?"

"In two weeks. You can stay until the very end," his therapist assures him, "but I'd recommend you to start packing already."

Mingyu simply nods.

"But what about the others?" He asks suddenly. "I mean Mr. Lee and the twins."

"They will get transferred to Pyeongchang. But no, you can't go with them," he adds as soon as Mingyu opens his mouth. "You're a young man, not physically incapable. You can go to work and you need to live your life, not waste it away here."

The younger doesn't look at Jeonghan, focusing on his hands sitting in his lap. The grey color of his skin looks even uglier on the brown trousers provided by the centre.

"The coordinator will talk to you about it, in detail, but you will get some money for the beginning. You'll also have to choose where you want to move because we'll need to get in contact with the local PDS monitoring centre."

Too soon, Mingyu thinks, but it would always be too soon - whether it's been three, five, or ten years. He can't do anything about it.

"But what about you? What will you be doing when the centre closes?"

Jeonghan looks surprised when he hears the question, but then he laughs and leans back on his chair. It bounces slightly with the movement.

"I've already sent my resume to a few places in Seoul," he says with a smile. "Hopefully at least one of them needs a PDS patient-specialized therapist."

Mingyu smiles too. Jeonghan is good in what he does; he's sure he'll find a better paying job.

“Good luck to you,” he says, and he means it. Jeonghan smiles at him softly.

“And good luck to you too, Mingyu,” he nods. “You’re gonna do just fine. I believe in you.”

Instead of saying something along the lines of _there’s nothing to believe in_ or _you shouldn’t_ , he just nods. It’s probably better not to worry him on one of their last meetings.

He realizes he’s going to miss Jeonghan.

***

Gayoung is a woman in her mid-thirties, looking like a manager of a trendy new restaurant in Gangnam rather than a coordinator in Anyang Treatment Centre for Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferers. Always dressed up elegantly, as if she was meant to meet rich investors instead of a bunch of ex-zombies. Perfect bob haircut, perfectly manicured nails, professionally-looking black folder in her hands. Surprisingly, she’s not as cold as she may seem through her overly perfected look. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop Mingyu from shaking slightly when he meets her.

“Hello Mingyu,” she greets him, shaking his hand when he shuffles slowly into her office. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Mingyu tries not to wince, knowing he won’t be comfortable in it, but he doesn’t complain.

“I’ve been talking to Jeonghan before our meeting.” The woman opens her folder. He can see there’s the first page of his record, basic information with an old picture of him, from the beginning of his therapy. “He told me you won’t be interested in staying in Anyang, even if it’s your hometown?”

Mingyu nods. 

“Okay.” Gayoung doesn’t ask more questions, which he’s thankful for. “Will you be interested in a big city or a smaller one?”

“Aren’t small towns more dangerous for us?”

The woman shakes her head.

“Depends, but there are ones with big PDS communities, so it’s actually very safe and more PDS sufferer-friendly.”

Mingyu thinks a while about her words but shakes his head in the end. He knows how small towns work, and he can’t bring himself to believe that it’s somehow better than a big city. 

Gayoung takes a glance into his folder again.

“You’ve been studying in Seoul, right?”

“Not Seoul,” he quickly says but has to correct himself when she raises one brow. “I mean, yes, I’ve been studying in Seoul, but I’m not really fond of it.” _Not really fond of it_ is a light way to put it. The truth is, Seoul is too close. Barely one hour by subway to his university from Anyang, the way he’s been going through almost every day for a year before he decided to move into the dorm on the campus.

Also, moving into the city he died in seems somehow wrong to him.

Gayoung nods and unlocks her iPad. A few seconds of tapping, her long nails making slight noise, checks the folder again.

“Maybe,” he starts, and she raises her head to look at him. “Maybe something in Gyeongsan province?” he proposes shyly. He tried to think about it before, and the opposite end of the country sounds good to him. Gayoung nods.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to give you this option, but I didn’t know you’d want to go that far,” she admits. “Currently Busan and Pohang are rated as the two best places for PDS sufferers to live in. Not only the infrastructure, but there’s been ongoing research about the positive influence of living close to nature on recovering patients. The residents also seem more open to PDS sufferers.”

Mingyu has never been to either of these cities, not even on a school trip. South Gyeongsan province always makes him think about manly men, people sounding aggressive because of their dialect even if they aren’t, and also a very conservative Daegu in a close proximity. He doesn’t think he’d fit there, both still alive and already dead.

But actually, does he have anything to lose right now? Doesn’t seem like it. 

“Busan sounds good,” he says after a few seconds.

***

Two days before the official date of the closing of Anyang Treatment Centre Mingyu walks out through the gates for the first and last time. He has a backpack on one shoulder and a travel bag in hand, both full of his belongings and a stash of neurotriptyline for the next week, as well as cover up mousse and contact lenses for the beginning. It’s the first time since he’s used both of these, as there was no need to do it in the treatment centre, and it feels weird to look almost normal, almost alive. His skin is not grey anymore, but in a shade of healthy tan, and his pigmentless eyes are dark brown again.

Even though he said his goodbyes to the personnel of the centre and other patients, he still feels uneasy, as if he was running away from his home.

It’s weird to be out after five years. Is this how prisoners feel after being released? Suddenly overwhelmed with the open space and all the possibilities? Scared of meeting people?

He takes a city bus to the express bus terminal. Sitting at the very back, he looks down, not wanting to look at other people, somehow scared they’ll recognize him as a PDS sufferer. Fortunately, the ride doesn’t take long.

With a ticket provided by Gayoung earlier, he goes to the platform and waits an hour for the bus. Hiding his face in the hood of his jacket, he finally gains the courage to look around.

The terminal didn’t change that much since he was here last time, probably about eight years ago. People also don’t seem to change - hurrying with their luggage, or sitting tiredly on the benches while waiting for their buses. He doesn’t see too many undead - but maybe they’re just good at looking alive. There’s one grandma who’s obviously the same as him, sitting as far from other people as possible. He turns away.

There are not many people boarding the bus when it finally comes; it’s the middle of the week after all. Mingyu goes in as the last person, not wanting to slow down others. He makes himself comfortable in the seat (as much as he can - he cannot _feel_ , per se, if he’s comfortable or not, he just has to sit in a particular way so it doesn’t look like there’s a problem with his hips) and takes his hood down, knowing it’d be weird if he kept it on for the whole four hour ride. 

The weather is gloomy. The sky is cloudy and looks like it’s about to rain any moment. When the bus leaves the city and goes onto the expressway he looks curiously through the window. It’s march, and the nature already became green again. The fog catches on the trees that grow on the slopes of the mountains, creating a view that seems almost eerie, magical; it reminds him of _Twilight_ , and he wonders if the blue-ish filter would make it even more similar to the movie. 

Seeing more nature than for years in the centre, where they only had a small park inside of three meter tall wall with barbed wire on top, he’s suddenly feeling like a child again. The other people on the bus are either sleeping, watching the documentary about ancient coins on TV - he saw it already two times in the centre - or are preoccupied with their phones, but he cannot stop looking at the view. A few times they have to go through a tunnel, and he closes his eyes until it's bright outside again.

It’s raining when they stop on the outskirts of Busan. 

According to Gayoung’s directions, now he has to take a subway to the city centre, and then transfer into the city bus again. The paper she gave him almost rips from the many times he folds it in stress. His brain tries to trick him into thinking his stomach hurts and heart hammers in his chest.

He notices more undead on the train or bus; usually well covered, but either their conversations out them, the way they move, or the hole on the base of their necks where you inject neurotriptyline. Is this city really that good to the PDS sufferers?

When he gets off the city bus, Mingyu follows two women who are obviously undead to get to the PDS monitoring centre. Fortunately, they were headed the same way, otherwise, he’d just get lost - but it would still be better than asking for help.

“How can I help you?” A man in the security uniform stationed by the door asks. He doesn’t sound friendly.

“I’m here for… for the relocation,” he stutters. 

“Window number five,” the man just says, gesturing to the direction of the window with his hand. Mingyu bows his head slightly as a “thank you” and makes his way.

He repeats the same to the bored lady at the window when he sits on the chair in front of it, this time a little bit more confidently. 

“Name?”

“Kim Mingyu.”

She checks on the computer, then nods. Of course, they knew he was coming; everything’s in the system probably already.

“Documents.”

He takes the papers out of his backpack and the ID from his pocket. The woman checks everything once again before tapping on the blank space on the application.

“Phone number.”

“I don’t have one,” Mingyu says quietly. He just shrugs when she shoots him a sharp look.

“You _don’t have_ a phone?” She asks once again. Mingyu confirms it with a nod. The woman sighs. “And what about an email?” She taps her finger on the other blank space.

“I had one, but I don’t have a computer so I don’t use it.”

She looks like she’s done with him, and he feels stupid.

“Write it down,” the woman says. “We need some form of contact with you. There’s a lot of PC cafes you can use. And it would be recommended to get a phone.”

Not looking at her face, he nods reluctantly and jots his old email address down. The next few minutes pass with the keyboard noises in the background. After a while, the woman prints a few pages and hands him.

“Sign here.” It’s a paper with a statement that he’s gonna report to the monitoring centre if anything out of ordinary happens, and that he’s going to obey the rules for Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers here. She takes it and leaves him the other pages. “That’s the address of your flat, you’re supposed to meet with the landlord at three pm.” She takes out the next pages. “These are PDS-friendly businesses that are looking for employees right now. You can start contacting them as soon as you move in. If you get hired, you have to report to us. Also, don’t forget about reporting when you get a phone number.”

Mingyu nods through all of her speech. He pockets his ID back and folding the papers in half, he leaves, bowing to the woman and then the security guard by the door.

Only when he’s out of the centre, he realizes he can’t check how to get to his new apartment.

 _Fuck_.

There's a neighborhood map by the building, so he tries to pinpoint the address from his papers to some place on it, but it's probably somewhere farther away. _Shit_.

"Excuse me, do you need help?"

Mingyu turns around to see a boy, probably a high schooler, sitting on a bike.

"Oh, yes, um, do you happen to know where this is?" He shows him the paper. His hands slightly tremble. Stupid side effects. The boy looks at it with a frown. 

"Hmm, no, but I can check!"

He opens the map app on his phone and tells him which bus to take. 

"Thank you," Mingyu says sincerely. The boy smiles at him and rides away on his bike. Is it luck? Or are all people so friendly here and it's a zombie utopia?

Thanks to the boy, he manages to not be late for the meeting with the landlord. Signing the contract takes only a few minutes and the whole meeting runs smoothly, with the man showing him around the small apartment. They say their goodbyes and the man leaves, also asking him to send him his phone number when he gets it.

When the doors close with a click, Mingyu flops on the bed, suddenly overwhelmed with the situation. He’s not _tired_ , physically, but mentally. Just thinking about having to move again, going somewhere and talking to people exhausts him. He decides that the _as soon as possible_ said by the lady at the centre doesn’t mean _right now this second,_ so he lets himself just rest for the rest of the day.

Mingyu gets up from the bed and starts unpacking. He doesn’t have much; most of his belongings are the second-hand clothes he got at the centre. There are also two books he’s read a few times already, a deck of cards - Sooyoung, a girl he met at some point in the centre, taught him how to play solitaire - and toiletries. He stacks the cover-up mousse and lenses on the shelf behind the mirror, but places the neurotriptyline bottles in what previously was the small kitchenette; he won’t need that anyway. 

When he’s done with unpacking, he turns on the tv. He wasn’t that much fazed when the landlord showed the apartment has it installed, but at this point he has nothing else to do. He turns it on and watches some trot competition reruns until 10 pm, then takes a shower - the water looks like mud when it washes down the mousse from his body - and goes straight to sleep.

It’s one of these nights when the nightmares don’t come.

***

The next morning, slightly more motivated after his daily shot of the cure, he finally decides to take a look at the papers about job he got. The list of the PDS friendly businesses is not too long, but there’s more positions than he expected. He finds a pen in the kitchenette, low quality plastic with the name of some loan company on it, and takes his time to read through everything. He crosses out every offer that requires too much movement - a gardener, all offers connected to renovation, repairs or construction, even the dog walker.

There's a voice in his head telling him that it's enough for today, that now he did this and deserves a rest, but he silences it and reluctantly leaves the apartment to find a telecommunication shop.

The next few days are eventful and uneventful at the same time. He gets a landline installed, the technician eyeing him suspiciously from time to time, because honestly, who gets a landline in 2020? He calls a few of the places to ask about the job, not without an hour of mentally preparing himself and writing down what to say on a scrap of paper. A few places invite him for an interview. He jots down the details on the back of the paper, realizing he doesn’t have a calendar yet.

It’s… weird. Trying out for a job, like all those years before, when he was a student and needed more pocket money for his photography equipment. But it’s totally different now, and his brain seems to shut down in some moments, so a week passes by like nothing, a blur of “we will call you”s, bumpy bus rides and some cooking show reruns on the TV. He also notices there’s a stray cat in the neighbourhood; it’s big - not fat, just… big for a cat - and its orange fur is dirty. It runs away as soon as it sees Mingyu, but he buys cat food and leaves it at the back of his building anyway. It always gets eaten.

He's walking back from another failed interview, deciding to just go by foot instead of taking the bus, and he sees a paper on the door of some old bookshop. When he looks inside, it looks rather dark, books stacked upon each other, barely any place to walk between them. The paper says, in shaky handwriting, "Part timer wanted. PDS ok".

Mingyu keeps standing there, worrying his lip between his teeth, thinking if he should go in or not, or maybe go home and come later, but suddenly the door open, a small bell attached at the top ringing.

He's faced with an old man - not literally, because he's really small and his back is slightly leaning - and the man smiles at him. Mingyu reciprocates the smile, not really knowing what to say.

"I saw you standing here for quite a long time, do you maybe want to be a part time worker?" he asks straight forward, his accent thick.

"I was thinking about it," Mingyu admits quietly. There would be a blush on his cheeks by now if he had any blood in his system left.

"Come on in!" The grandpa gestures and leads him inside. Dust is dancing in the faint sunlight and judging by the amount of really old books with yellowish pages, the distinct old paper smell must be really heavy. "You're not from here, huh?"

"I moved in a week ago," Mingyu answers, looking around. There are books of different genres, from medicine and law to cringy romance novels. There are some newer ones too; he can spot a few _Twilight_ copies. Funny. "It's my first time in this area, to be honest."

The man stops by a desk where the cash register is located and shuffles some papers. With a surprise, when the man leans over the desk, Mingyu notices a hole in his neck, just above his collar. He wouldn't have guessed he's a PDS sufferer too.

"My business is small, but I do have clients. I can't offer a high payment, but I need someone tall to help me. It's just a part time job, so if you want to find something else you can just come here twice a week. Is that okay?" 

The grandpa looks at Mingyu expectantly. Well, maybe work like this isn't one of Mingyu's dreams, but honestly, what other choice does he have?

"Yes," he answers.

The old man gives him a contract to sign and asks him to take down the paper from the door on his way out.

Mingyu leaves with his own copy in one hand and a promise to come tomorrow on his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kind comments under the previous chapter!!! they are a huge motivation to me ❤️
> 
> in this chapter we'll get to know a little more about the universe and mingyu's past, and jihoon finally makes an appearance!
> 
> tw: needles, non-graphic descriptions of death

Working in this bookshop is definitely a tougher job than he could imagine. Or maybe that's just because of his boss - the grandpa seems to want to make a general cleanup of the store.

"It's been a few years, you know," he says when Mingyu is disassembling the pile that's called "history books", checking the titles in the thick old notebook provided by the grandpa, putting away those that don't fit into the category and making a place to put the right ones neatly back. "I tried to do it on my own, but it's not easy at my age," he laughs breathily. "Couldn't afford a part-time worker before."

Mingyu just nods, not really knowing what to say back.

The shop has it's clients, just like the grandpa said, coming in from time to time. There are other old people, grandmas browsing the romance novel section, people who came because they were just curious and end up only skimming the shelves, or university students digging through very specialized categories.

For most of the time though the shop is empty, and it prompts the owner to talk to Mingyu about anything, obviously trying not to speak too much in the Busan dialect, which Mingyu is thankful for.

"I've had this shop since 1983," he says. "It was my wife's dream. So we worked hard to gain money to open it. It was better back then, when she was here," he sighs and makes a pause to point out that Mingyu missed a few books, mistakenly putting them away. "She passed away a few years before me. If we knew… If she only held on a little longer…" He shakes his head. "She could be back here with me."

Mingyu nods. Still, no one has found the reasons for The Rising, no one knows why only people who died in the same year have been resurrected and the others didn't. There are a lot of conspiracy theories about it though, from some kind of _chosen one_ being one of them, to other equally ridiculous ones about radiation affecting the bodies that were in a particular state of rotting.

He doesn't know which one he believes. What could bring all those corpses from around the world to life? 

Funny enough, if people didn't develop the cure, getting rid of the zombies would be pretty easy, as they weren't infecting anybody else, contrary to what was shown in the movies before.

But they did, and now he's here.

"Now, tell me something about yourself boy, you're way too quiet. How did you die?"

Mingyu is thankful he's not facing the man and that he doesn't see his displeased expression. It's actually a very common way to start a conversation with another PDS sufferer, but to him, it still seems a little bit insensitive.

"Was crossing the street while texting." He shrugs. He doesn't need to say anything more. He looks at the man who nods in understanding.

"That's why you're walking funny?" 

The space in the shop is limited, so he hoped his limping wouldn't be that obvious, but of course, the grandpa noticed.

"Fractured pelvis," he confirms. 

The old man waves his hand dismissively. 

"Nothing to worry about then."

Mingyu chuckles at his words because he wouldn't call something so permanent _nothing to worry about_ , but the old man might have a point. It's not like it can heal anyway, his bones only held together by metal screws.

A client enters, and the grandpa busies himself by asking them what they're looking for, leaving Mingyu back with his work. When the client, a middle-aged lady looking for Nora Roberts' novels, leaves with one copy in her bag, the man talks to Mingyu again.

"I died here," he says, and Mingyu almost drops the book he's been holding in his hands. 

"Oh, really?" He asks, trying to mask his surprise. It doesn't work, because the grandpa laughs at him shortly.

"It was a heart attack," he explains, while Mingyu regains his composure and goes back to work. "Thankfully, no one bought this place or tore it down!" He says cheerfully. "So when they released me I came back here, and I opened it again. It was nice to go back to something you know." Mingyu nods in understanding, but the man points it out: "Aren't you from Gyeonggi province? Why haven't you stayed back there?"

"Personally, I'm not fond of the place where I died." He smiles apologetically at the grandpa. 

"That's fair enough," he agrees.

The whole day passes like that, grandpa asking him about some details of his life, happily talking about himself too. But between those conversations and work, Mingyu notices how this cheerful man has actually a hard time with being the only person here. He may have memorized almost all the books he has for sale, but the shop needs more than this. Mingyu makes a mental list of stuff he could do to improve this place, and he himself notices his willingness to do it with a surprise.

He doesn't vocalize his ideas yet, finishing the day quietly, saying his goodbyes and walking straight home.

The neighborhood cat observes him from behind a parked motorbike.

***

It's not the next day, but after the weekend. He's trying to finish with the biology and medicine section, but there are so many clients that he has to move away from it every now and then.

Okay, _many_ is relative, because compared to some newer shops or other business branches this would be probably considered just a normal day, but for them, it's quite busy. Even the owner is surprised, reaching up and patting Mingyu on his shoulder.

"You did good, kid."

"Me?" Mingyu asks, his voice getting high with surprise.

The grandpa nods.

"I have told my friends at our group therapy that I got myself a very handsome young man as a part-timer. The might have told other people too to come and see."

Mingyu breathes through his nose, jaw set. Half of him wants to say thanks for the flattering words, and the other wants to run away. He certainly didn't come that far from his hometown just to become "a handsome mascot" of the bookshop at the end of the country. He doesn't like this type of attention. Actually, he doesn't know if he likes any attention at all.

He tries to focus on his work, but noting the books in the notebook is getting more and more tiring. Inputting it in some sort of computer system would be easier and more helpful, he thinks, when the old man snatches the notebook from his hands to cross out the position a client has just bought.

With a sigh, he turns around, leaning his back on the side of another shelf, and crosses his arms on his chest, as the man looks for the title. He looks around, noticing yet another grandma going through the romance novel shelf, and a man that's certainly looking for something.

In his mind, Mingyu sees himself blushing; a typical reaction of his past self to a handsome man. Now, he just moves away when the man comes up to browse the medicine shelf, and tries to look at him from a corner of his eye, not looking like a creep.

The man is short, and judging by his face, about the same age as Mingyu when he died. He looks mesmerizing; stark black hair and dark brown eyes are a contrast to his pale, grey skin of an undead person. But for some reason, it doesn't look like Mingyu's, ugly and disgusting, but makes him look weirdly ethereal, like some sort of a magical, mythical being.

Mingyu almost laughs at how stupid his own thoughts sound and is thankful for the grandpa who decides to push the notebook into his hands again. 

"Anything special you're looking for?" He asks the man as Mingyu busies himself with another shelf for the time being. 

"My cousin will be trying for medicine at the university next year, I was wondering if I could find something that could help him," he answers, voice surprisingly lower than Mingyu expected, matching the old man's dialect.

"Hm, we have some academic textbooks at the top shelf. Mingyu?"

Mingyu turns around, putting a kind smile - or he just hopes it looks kind - on his face.

"Top shelf?"

The grandpa nods and Mingyu takes all of these down, including a few volumes laying on the top of it, the layer of dust so thick it must have been lying there untouched for years, unnoticed by the small old man. They're anatomical albums, bigger than regular books, not fitting into the shelves, so that's probably why they were thrown up there.

He leaves them to look through the books, judging what should be useful and what shouldn't. When he finds what he's looking for, the man leaves, and Mingyu catches himself hoping to see him again.

Stupid.

***

He must be getting comfortable here because the nightmares are back.

Mingyu almost cries from relief when he sees a ceiling of his room in Busan when he wakes up, not the one from his home in Anyang. He scrambles up to get to the kitchen, his fingers trembling when he prepares the syringe and positions it over the hole in the nape of his neck with a well-practiced motion, needle seated perfectly between the first and second vertebrae.

The shot calms him down a little more, but rather mentally than physically. Neurotriptyline rebuilds brain cells, which is why the undead aren't still brain-seeking hungry zombies, but it also causes a _lot_ of side effects – vivid nightmares and shaking being only two of them. Some of the people he knows suffer from insomnia, and if he had a chance to choose, he would choose this one right away, because he'd rather not sleep at all than wake up tired from reliving his days as a mindless zombie again, guilt, shame and disgust making him nauseous when he sees himself breaking his father's skull again and again.

To calm himself down, he heads to the bathroom, spreading the covering mousse over the visible parts of his body now becoming some sort of a morning ritual, the feeling of satisfaction when his skin turns golden again. It also makes him think about the client from yesterday - the man who for some reason wore contact lenses, but not the mousse. It's intriguing, because as far as Mingyu knows, not many people choose to go _au naturel_. Sure, he's heard about the movement that originated in the UK, PDS sufferers who embrace their current look - but this is Korea, and from what he knows, the always quickly developing beauty market has also made its way to the undead, catering products especially made for them, so instead of the cheapest mousse and lenses from the pharmacy, they can buy a variety of these from beauty shops. The posters in shop windows lure you with the smiling faces of the undead celebrities, and if Mingyu has to be frank, it's working on him.

He's already in the middle of the way to work when he realizes he's been told to not come today. But since he left the house, he concludes that going there won't hurt. It's not like he has other plans anyway.

"Why are you here," the grandpa asks when he enters the shop with a ring of the bell above the door. "You're a part-timer, not a full-timer."

Mingyu shrugs. He doesn't answer.

"Alright, stay here as much as you want but I won't pay you."

Mingyu nods. This time, he takes his time with the books, picking up more interesting ones and reading through a few pages, leaving them be if they don't interest him enough to engulf in reading more. He wasn't much of a reader before, especially after the university making him read all those boring academic texts, but if the only kind of entertainment he could get at the treatment centre was television (usually just educational programs on EBS and any kind of sport that was currently airing) and books, he slowly got into reading.

After a while, when he gets deep into some fantasy novel, the grandpa kicks him out of the shop, saying that _it's not a library!_ which is fair enough. And after asking where the library is, then, it turns out it's not that far, so he decides to walk there.

The weather is still in a weird mix of late winter and early spring, the air humid but chilly, strong wind blowing. There are puddles of water on the street from last night's rain, and Mingyu accidentally stomps into one, splashing water on his new pants. (Well, _new_ is a very relative term in this case).

"Hey!"

...and, with his luck, someone else's too.

He glances up and, to his surprise, sees the man from yesterday. He's holding a washcloth in one hand, glass cleaning spray in the other as he's standing in front of some bakery's window. This time he doesn't have his contacts in, and his gaze looks even angrier because of this, before the realization softens his expression.

"Oh, sorry," Mingyu says, bowing slightly.

"You're the part-timer at the bookstore, right?" The man asks before Mingyu has time to walk away in embarrassment.

"Yes."

The man looks at him expectantly, but he has nothing to say anymore so he keeps his mouth shut.

"You're not from here, right?"

Mingyu shakes his head.

"I'm from Gyeonggi province," he says more generally, concluding he should say something now. "Moved here not long ago. And you?" he adds, but regrets immediately, because judging by the man's accent he's been probably born and raised here and it's such a stupid question. 

However, it makes the man smile, slightly amused. It's pretty.

"I'm from here," he confirms Mingyu's assumptions. "Okay, I'm keeping you here, sorry. It was nice to see you-" he glances at the drying water on his shoes and pants but shakes his head. "If you ever need anything, just come by my bakery."

Mingyu nods, and it takes him two seconds to realize the man's words.

" _Y_ _our_ bakery?" He asks in slight disbelief. "But you're–"

"Undead, yeah," he finishes. "That doesn't mean I cannot bake anymore."

"Oh. Sorry." 

The man just waves his hand dismissively. 

"It's okay, I get that a lot. Anyway, see you around…?" He waits for a good few seconds before Mingyu realizes he's waiting for him to tell him his name.

"Kim Mingyu," he says quickly, imagining himself with flushed cheeks. Yet another embarrassment in front of a beautiful man. 

"I'm Lee Jihoon," he introduces himself.

Mingyu waves at him and proceeds to walk away as quickly as he can. After some distance, he turns around just to see, with surprise, that Lee Jihoon is still looking at him.

He ducks his head and fights the urge to look back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure if the next chapter will be the final one, or will it be separated into two, but we'll see soon~ follow me on twitter (@yiwoozi) for updates ;-)


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